Broken Hearts (Light in the Dark 5)

Instead, I settle on a pair of jeans a long-sleeve black t-shirt.

It’s hardly fancy, but at least I’m covered.

Nova wears a pair of jeans and a loose red sweater that hides her bump.

A growl emanates from deep in my chest, pissed she feels the need to hide our baby like it’s a dirty fucking secret.

I wish she wasn’t afraid of her parents, but I know they did a number on her and it is what it is. It’s a good thing she’s not messed up like she could’ve been. The same is true of me.

We’re both lucky to have come out of bad situations relatively unscathed.

Nova looks at me, her face showing her apprehension.

“No matter what happens, they don’t define you.”

She nods at my words. “I know.” She gives me a small smile, retreating further into herself. I hate that these people can do this to her and she hasn’t even seen them yet. I miss her vibrancy, and her energy, and her, and it’s only been one day.

I shrug into my coat and she does the same.

Nova starts for the door and she barely has it open when I slam my hand down on it and push the door closed.

She jumps and looks at me, clearly startled.

“You don’t have to do this,” I tell her. “They don’t know we’re here. We can hang out here until we have to catch our flight and no one will be the wiser.”

She presses her lips together and seems to be mulling over my words. After a moment she shakes her head and squares her shoulders. “No, I have to do this.”

I sigh. I knew she was going to say that, but I had to ask anyway.

I nod once and swing the door open, letting her step outside first.

I drive, since she’s too nervous to drive, and she gives me the directions.

Eventually, we pull up outside a large stone two-story home with a long ass driveway.

It’s different than I expected. Way different.

Anytime I pictured the home Nova grew up in it was always smaller, like a little cottage or something, but I guess I shouldn’t be surprised if her parents are friends with Owen’s parents.

Rich people tend to stick together—one valuable lesson I learned from my father.

I put the car in park and pull out the key from the ignition.

Nova takes a shaky breath beside me and stares straight ahead at the garage doors. “Let’s do this.”

She doesn’t sound enthusiastic about it at all.

I keep reminding myself she needs to do this.

Closure is everything. Without it we keep spinning in circles.

I slide out of the car and she does the same, we meet in the front and her hand reaches for mine. Her fingers curl around mine—she’s holding on like I’m a buoy keeping her afloat in the turbulent ocean.

We walk slowly up the walkway and then up the three small steps to the front door.

“Ready?” I ask her.

“I’ll never be.”